The next few months flew by as Lily dove headfirst into her internship. It wasn’t easy—there were long hours, late nights, and pressure like she had never felt before. But she thrived in it. The challenges only made her stronger, and she quickly became a valuable asset to the design team. Her work was not just good; it was exceptional. She had found her rhythm, and the world was beginning to take notice.
But as much as she loved her work, I could see that she was struggling with the emotional weight of it all. She was growing into an adult, a successful one at that, but she was also still my little girl—the one who had worked so hard for that sewing machine, the one who had cried when it was destroyed. And sometimes, I could still see the echoes of that pain in her eyes when she’d have a bad day or when the pressure got too much.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the studio, Lily came home late, her face drawn and tired. She dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto the couch, her eyes closed in exhaustion.
“Long day?” I asked, sitting down beside her.